


The Last Soulmates

by Time_And_I



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Blood, Death, Death Star, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Fluff, Force Training, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi, Older Man/Younger Woman, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Soulmates, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Reader-Insert, Reverse Harem, Rivalry, Romance, Romantic Soulmates, Sith, Slave Trade, Slavery, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Some Humor, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers, To Be Continued, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24872947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Time_And_I/pseuds/Time_And_I
Summary: (Y/N), the last female Soulistin alive, had been looking for her soulmates all her life. However, it was certainly more difficult for her to do so when her life didn't belong to her, and her soulmates never knew of her existence. However, things took a turn for the better when they were sent on a mission by the Emperor to buy a certain slave who's mind was subconsciously calling for help. Nothing was ever going to be the same, but just meeting (Y/N)'s soulmates wouldn't be enough to save her life.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Reader, Orson Krennic/Reader, Orson Krennic/Wilhuff Tarkin/Reader, Wilhuff Tarkin/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	The Last Soulmates

**Author's Note:**

> I am going to slowly destroy myself by making this a slow burn. Hooray. (.-.) Moving forward… This is an AU of the Star Wars Universe. There will be things that will NOT match the movies, television series, books, and comics. I will do my best to portray these characters to the best of my knowledge. This is a story that contains polygamy, so if that is not something you like, this isn’t the place for you. I will say that Krennic and Tarkin will not harbor romantic feelings for each other. It’s more of, they’ll learn to put up with each other for the sake of the reader. That will happen very… slowly though. There will also be a significant age difference between the reader and her lovers. I apologize to those who identify themselves as something other than she/her, but with the plotline this story takes place, having a female reader is best. There will also be mature themes in this book. You have been warned. One last thing, Star Wars cursing will be replacing the cursing you know of. I hope you enjoy this tale of what could have been!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After obtaining orders from the Emperor to fetch a certain slave, Darth Vader, Wilhuff Tarkin, and Orson Krennic venture to a part of the galaxy that most wouldn't want to be associated with. The three have absolutely no idea what the slave in question looks like, walking into the auction house blind. (Y/N) just so happens to be the slave they're looking for, but there's more to her that meets the eye. She's still searching for her soulmates after twenty three years, and her companion, Razz'wiat'paskei, is gradually getting more and more concerned. For both parties involved, it will be difficult to get what they want when Zand, the auction house owner, has other plans.

“Are you alright, my dear?” (Y/N) turned her attention from the _very_ interesting grey wall to the Chiss sitting on the opposite side of the room. His red eyes showed concern, a gentle expression on his face. She smiled at him, nodding.

“Of course! Just thinking is all,” the young woman replied. He hummed in response, allowing himself to cross his legs on the sad excuse of a bed he sat on.

“You seem to have been doing a lot of ‘thinking’ for the past week,” he remarked. (Y/N) only chewed on the inside of her cheeks, looking at the wall again. “You don’t have to be so worried, you know. I’ll protect you.” She sighed lightly, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“I can’t help it,” she admitted softly. The Chiss frowned. He stood to his feet and sat next to his companion. He gently pulled her to him, wrapping an arm around her waist as she straightened her legs. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “What if Zand tries to sell us off to someone random again?” 

“To be honest, I’d expect him to do it.” 

“I wish he wasn’t so thick-skulled.” He chuckled.

“He’s a slave trader, Dear. We can’t expect much of him. His mind’s on one-track.” He squeezed (Y/N). “We’ll find your soulmates soon, I promise.” (Y/N) nodded. 

“Whatever would I do without you?” Razz, formally known as Razz'wiat'paskei, smiled lightly.

“I have absolutely no idea. Crash and burn?” (Y/N) laughed at that.

She remarked with an amused grin, “Probably.” Razz opened his mouth to reply but stopped as a guard opened the door to the room.

“Rest time is over. You have an hour to get yourselves prepared.” He remarked in a stoic tone. “Zand is also requesting your appearance. See to it you go to him first.”

“We'll do so then,” Razz replied. The guard left with a slight huff, (Y/N) and Razz standing to their feet.

“What could he want?” (Y/N) asked, peering up at her exceedingly tall friend. Despite the fact (Y/N) stood at 5’6, the average for her kind, she was a dwarf compared to him. Razz was a solid 6’8, being on the taller side for a Chiss.

“I have a feeling I know what he wants.”

~~~

“Wait, wait, wait! Why me?” (Y/N) looked terrified, Zand’s expression not changing in the slightest at her protests. He was human, containing a rather extravagant appearance that oozed wealth. A fellow slave once claimed that he dressed the way he did to make up for his average face.

“I can’t see anyone else more fitting than you, Soulistin. They’re very powerful men with high positions in the Empire, meaning they have plenty of credits to spare.” He replied, his brown eyes boring into (Y/N)’s (e/c) ones. Razz’s mouth twitched, irritation covering his blue-skinned face.

“Are you insane?” He growled, earning a glare from Zand. “You do know how dangerous the Empire is?”

“I’ve heard stories.”

“Then you know what a horrible idea this is!” Razz snapped.

“Look, Chiss, I’m running out of options on who to sell this kriffing girl to! There have been thousands of people who have walked through my establishment and none of them have been her soulmates!” Zand eyed the pair skeptically. “I’m starting to believe you’re both just stalling.” (Y/N) gave Zand an incredulous look, Razz looking like he’s going to explode from anger. “Now, you both need to get going. We’re on a time limit here.”

“I’m not done talking to you, Zand,” Razz spat. He turned to (Y/N). “I’ll be with you soon.” She nodded, leaving Razz and her owner in the room alone. Once the door closed, Razz spoke again. “How many times do I need to tell you that she cannot be sold off to some stranger? You know how important it is for her to find them.” Zand sneered. “The Soulistin are a near-extinct species! She is the only hope there is that her kind can survive.”

“Do you really think I give a damn about that? For all I know, you could be lying. No one knows anything about the Soulistin but the Soulistin themselves! They’re things of legend. I didn’t even know they were real until I got her!” Razz’s mouth twitched again. “I’ve been pulling a lot of strings for her, Chiss. I have a business to run, and sooner or later, people are going to find out about her.”

“And when they do, the _galaxy_ will come after her!” Razz roared.

“That’s not my problem.” Razz ran a hand through his disheveled black hair, glaring at Zand.

“It may not be, but it’s mine.” There was a pause for a while, anger radiating off the pair. Zand then arched an eyebrow.

“Why?” It was a simple question, it really was, but not easy to answer. Razz clenched his jaw, a glimmer of sadness in those intense red eyes of his. His anger appeared to settle down a tad.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you,” and with that, Razz left the room without another word.

~~~

When the three men from the Galactic Empire walked into the auction room, they had not expected it to be so… alive. The auction house was packed to the brim with species of all kinds, each clearly having some form of wealth just based on their way of dress. There were at least one hundred tables, nearly every seat filled. The high ceiling was made to look like space, the ‘stars’ actually giving light for the guests below. There was at least one slave per table, but those with more wealth had more. Drinks were flowing and chatter filled the air. The bartenders that were working behind the bar were scrambling to get drinks out but kept calm expressions. A band composed of Biths played an upbeat tune. Zand made his way through the crowd to them, greeting guests with a broad grin as he went by. He was in his element and functioned well in it. His grin seemed to somehow widen when he spotted the three. He stopped in front of them, bowing to them before straightening up. “Gentlemen, I was so pleased to hear about your plans to visit my establishment.” He offered a nod to the shortest of the group. “A pleasure as always, Director. I have to say, I didn’t expect you to return so soon. Especially with your present company.” A charming grin framed the Director’s face.

“The quality of your slaves enticed them to search for their own.” The lie that slipped out of his mouth was effortless. The Director had no intention of giving away the true reasoning for their arrival, nor was he allowed to speak of the nature of their mission. He would admit he was surprised when the orders were brought to him that he, alongside the Grand Moff and Sith Lord, must seek out a slave that Zand currently owned. He could have easily gotten whoever they were himself, but no. The Emperor insisted the others come with him. Upon that notion, he realized the gravity of the situation, but even the three were left with questions.

“Wonderful!” Zand chirped. “I'm sure there will be slaves that will be to your liking, but in the meantime, allow me to take you to your table. The auction will start in due time. Please, follow me.” Those in the auction house could not help but stare as the group went by, a million questions running through their minds. Despite the many eyes upon them that continued even when they sat down, they would not allow themselves to be shaken. In fact, the Director seemed to be enjoying the attention. “Your server will be with you shortly. I can ensure you that you will be in good hands.”

“I expect nothing less, Zand. Thank you for your hospitality.” Zand nearly beamed at the Director’s words, bowing and walking away.

~~~

(Y/N) looked at her giggling friends as they whispered among themselves. She peered at them confused. “What’s got you guys so excited?” An orange Twi’lek known as Nistusi grabbed (Y/N) and pulled her into the little group.

“Orson Krennic is back!” Nistusi explained excitedly, extending a finger to point at him. (Y/N) could feel her stomach drop at the mere mention of his name. Upon looking at him, he was nothing like she expected. She expected him to look more like the older man who sat to his direct left; stoic, intense, and rigid. Not that there was anything wrong about that in her eyes, but it gave way to a sharp contrast between the men. Krennic was a man in his fifties but did age suit him well. His nearly completely grey hair was short and well kept, combed neatly to the right side of his head. He was fair-skinned, and although it was difficult to see his appearance from such a distance, it was clear to her that he was quite the specimen. (Y/N) had worked the floors before, but if she ever saw him, he didn't stay in her mind. She began to wish that she had payed more attention to his arrivals. 

(Y/N) turned her gaze to the man next to Orson, which she could guess was Wilhuff Tarkin. He was certainly older than Orson, his hair even greyer, or perhaps whiter, than the younger man’s. He kept his thinning hair combed back, which was shorter than Krennic’s. He was fair-skinned as well, but it was difficult to judge whether or not he would be considered ‘handsome’ from where (Y/N) stood. (Y/N) nearly snorted at the fact she was silently rating how good looking the imperial officers were. 

She moved her eyes to the next person, if she could even call him that. Darth Vader was his name, and (Y/N) knew it well. She may have been well hidden from most things by Razz, but to not hear the name Darth Vader at least once was impossible. He was as frightening as the slaves and guests had said. He was more machine than man in appearance, and there was something about him that made (Y/N) wish to look away. The man in black armour… 

(Y/N) turned her gaze to Nistusi with an eyebrow arched. “How do you know him?” Nistusi and the other slave girls gave a gasp.

“How do we not know him?” Nistusi shot back, earning an eye roll from (Y/N).

Ellie, a Ferroan with white hair, remarked, “He buys slaves from here all the time!” She dropped the tone of her voice and somehow seemed more excited as she spoke again. “Rumor has it he lets whoever he buys go!” 

“What?” (Y/N)’s voice was riddled with shock. “How do you know this?”

“A guest came by one time and mentioned it!” Nistusi answered. (Y/N) sighed. 

“So you don’t know for sure.”

“Well, no, but he always seems so nice,” a Tholothian replied. She was never given a name but seemed to prefer it that way. (Y/N) never knew why.

“I say your hopes are too high.” Nistusi crossed her arms, and the Tholothian rolled her eyes. 

Ellie smiled dreamily at Orson, saying, “Even so, it wouldn’t be so bad to be a slave for someone that good looking.” A shiver ran down (Y/N)’s spine. 

“Ya, no thanks. I’d rather not be his slave, or anyone’s for a matter of fact.” Nistusi clicked her tongue.

“Seriously? You’re a slave, (Y/N). Nothing’s gonna change that. You’re just as farkled as we are.” (Y/N) bit the insides of her cheeks, looking away from the girls only to see Zand making his way to her. He motioned for her to come to him.

“Your time's up. You're to do _anything_ they ask.” He leaned closer to her face, making (Y/N) swallow quietly in her nervousness. “Don’t screw this up.”

~~~

“Do you even know what she looks like?” Orson remarked in a bitter tone, scanning over the many different creatures that resided in the auction house.

“We will know when we see her,” was Darth Vader’s reply. Orson gave him an exasperated look.

“‘We will know when we see her’. What kind of druk is that?” Tarkin shot Orson a glare, Orson laughing bitterly. “You know what? You’re right. We’ll just keep looking into a crowd of, oh, I’d say at least three hundred people and easily spot her out. A description of her appearance wouldn’t help us at all. This is a _brilliant_ plan!”

“Calm yourself, Krennic.” Orson softly shook his head at Tarkin’s words.

“If she really is a slave like the Emperor said, it’s likely she’s already gone. Slaves get bought as quickly as they’re brought. She’s probably halfway across the galaxy by now,” Orson continued.

“Your lack of trust in the Emperor is concerning.” Darth Vader refused to look at Orson as he spoke. Orson shifted in his seat uncomfortably, a small hint of unease on his face.

“There’s no need for your concern, Lord Vader. It’s not the Emperor I distrust, but rather the information in itself.” Orson explained, his gaze nearly moving away from Vader. (Y/N) took a deep breath before finally standing at her position. She put on a kind smile but nervousness lurked behind her eyes. 

“Greetings, Masters. I will be serving you this evening. May I get you two a drink? Perhaps information for you, Master Vader?” (Y/N) wanted to run away from the three men, knowing exactly what they could do to her, especially Darth Vader. However, she couldn’t help but observe them further now that she was closer to them. Orson was the first she observed. She was right to think he was going to be handsome up close, and his eyes seemed so… innocent. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought he was. His clothing was _very_ white, and upon glancing at Wilhuf, she realized it was a uniform. Except for the cape. That seemed to not be a part of it. 

Wilhuff, on the other hand, was probably the picture-perfect image of someone of extreme power in the Empire and fought mercilessly for it. His aged face was unreadable, sharing the same colour eyes as Orson. There was something that was significantly different about the feel of them, however. His eyes felt cold, carefully analyzing everything around him with no emotions attached. Despite his eyes being a very prominent feature of his, his cheekbones were probably a close second in noticeably. _‘I could slice my fingers on those.’_ (Y/N) thought, silently laughing in her head.

(Y/N) didn’t allow herself to analyze Darth Vader long, an unsettled feeling worming its way into her mind. She could now see the detail on his armour. His heavy breathing told her that it was more than just that, rather his source of life. (Y/N) found it incredible that he was still living after whatever had happened to him. Despite not knowing the circumstances that brought him to be stuffed in that suit, she had a feeling there was no other way to save him. She began to wonder if he was in pain but dared not ask. Her thoughts and analysis were interrupted when Orson spoke. “Surprise me.” A coy smirk had made its way onto his face. (Y/N) quickly recognized the slight lisp and accent that was in his voice. Even his voice made him sound harmless. 

_‘Oddly fitting…’_ (Y/N) thought as she nodded to him, her gaze shifting to Wilhuff.

“Coffee, please.” (Y/N) blinked a few times owlishly, her smile faltering slightly in her shock. She was not used to having manners directed at her. Tarkin, on the other hand, had perfect articulation. He too contained an accent, being quite different from the Director’s. He contained a sense of nobility Orson didn’t have. 

“O-Of course.” Before leaving to fetch their drinks, she asked, “Anything come to mind, Master Vader?”

“What species are you?” For a moment, (Y/N) just stared at Darth Vader with a curious expression. Normally, most beings who walked into the auction house assumed she was human. 

“That information can only be given to the person who buys me.” That caught the attention of the three men, but before any further questions could be asked about her answer, she already walked away. 

“Relationship slaves… They just keep making them more mysterious.” Orson commented, folding his arms. Tarkin arched an eyebrow at his words, but Darth Vader was too focused on watching (Y/N) make her way to the bar.

Tarkin remarked, “I wasn’t aware there was such a type.” 

“They’re only sold here for one, and two, they’re exceedingly rare.”

“What exactly is their purpose?”

“To be whatever the buyer wants. However, they must be in some sort of relationship that goes beyond a slave and master one.” Orson explained, smiling at a female Mirialan slave who winked at him. “If someone is a relationship slave, there’s usually something special about them.”

“And how do you know this?” Orson scowled at Tarkin, knowing exactly where this was going. “I couldn’t help but notice how the owner treated you like a patron. I take it there is something, or rather someone you’ve been hiding. Most would consider it unfavourable for an officer of your rank to be visiting such a place, even more so, dare I say, to buy slaves.” If looks could kill, Wilhuff would have surely died ages ago. Orson opened his mouth to retort, but (Y/N) returned.

“Here you go, Masters.” (Y/N) handed Krennic and Tarkin their drinks, smiling at them. As the tips of their fingers brushed against her own, (Y/N) felt like the wind got knocked out of her lungs. Her hearts began to beat loudly in her chest. She rested a hand over them as she gasped for breath. Razz, automatically sensing a disturbance, turned his attention from the table he was serving to (Y/N). His eyes narrowed, quickly excusing himself to watch the table from a reasonable distance. Vader took notice of this, gazing at him for a moment before looking at (Y/N) again.

“Is everything alright?” Orson asked, confused at her sudden reaction. Tarkin merely took a sip of his drink with that unreadable expression of his. She did her best to compose herself as quickly as possible, but a fiery red blush demanded to make an appearance on her cheeks.

“A-Ah, yes. My apologies, Masters. I don’t know what came over me...” She softly cleared her throat. “I do hope your drinks are to your tastes. Master Zand insists on getting only the finest drinks this galaxy has to offer.” She folded her hands behind her back. “The coffee is freshly brewed of course, but the wine you are having, Master Krennic, is truly something else. We had it recently imported from Jabba the Hutt. It’s a sacred drink to the Tusken Raiders of Tatooine who refuse to sell it to the public. Jabba calls it Tusken Wind.”

“Is that so?” Orson rhetorically asked with an intrigued expression, gently swirling the drink in his gloved hand. He brought it up to his lips, (Y/N) silently praying that it would be to his tastes. She had pulled some strings to even give him the drink. Her reasoning? She didn’t even know herself, but something drew her to get it for him. (Y/N) could not stop the giggle that escaped her as a look of astonishment appeared on the Director’s face. “This… This is incredible!” Tarkin rolled his eyes but said nothing. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the coffee was beyond decent. There was a certain amount of care that was put into his drink when it was brewed.

She replied, “I’m glad it’s to your liking.” Orson grinned at her, a twinkle in his eyes.

“That would be an understatement.” He glanced at his drink. “I take it you know your way around alcohol?”

“Sort of… I will admit I have never drank alcohol myself, but I learn what is liked by certain species and not by others.” Orson’s eyebrows furrowed together.

“You weren’t born free?” Although it sounded like a question, it was more a statement. (Y/N)’s smile faltered, gazing at the carpeted floor.

“No, Master.” (Y/N) would often question if she would be able to taste freedom. After being a slave for nearly twenty-three years, she started to lose hope. It was perfectly reasonable to have such a reaction, but she was not alone in this sense of hopelessness. As she grew closer to twenty-five, fear settled in Razz. Time was ticking away, and there was not much he could do under the confinements of slavery. However, that did not mean he would stop trying to achieve his ultimate goal; to break the Soulistin curse.

Razz made his way to (Y/N)’s table, a serious expression on his face. To those fortunate enough to see the Chiss smile, it was when he was around (Y/N). Those who were not fortunate enough were met with the expression of silent and well-contained fury. He offered a nod to the imperial officers as a greeting, (Y/N)’s face brightening up immediately. As the pair stood side by side, it came to the three that they were matching. The Chiss was wearing a crimson suit coupled with a tie, lace-up shoes, button-up shirt, and ribbon tied around his wrist; all of which happened to be black. (Y/N) wore the same shade of red as Razz when it came to her dress. It was a floor-length beauty that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. A black ribbon was neatly tied around her neck, her high heels matching. They looked like quite the pair. “May I steal her away for a moment?”

Orson, guessing Darth Vader and Tarkin wouldn’t argue otherwise, replied, “Go ahead.” Razz offered his thanks stiffly, grabbing (Y/N)’s hand to lead her along. Darth Vader, after his long period of silence, decided to speak about the realization that had come to him.

“We’ve found the girl.” Both Tarkin and Orson looked at Vader, although Orson appeared more surprised.

“Her?” Orson questioned, tilting his drink in her direction without spilling. Darth Vader nodded in response, Tarkin gazing at (Y/N) and the Chiss. “...I will admit, there's something rather different about her.” Orson’s mind drifted back to the reaction she had when she touched Tarkin and him. A shiver went up his spine as an image of (Y/N) smiling appeared in his mind. He pursed his lips and dropped his gaze to his drink, puzzled at his uncalled for reaction. A loud thud, followed by a crash, caught the room’s attention. An uproar began with the non-slave staff, moving to restrain the only Chiss in sight.

“BASTARD!” Razz roared at the man he had thrown against a table, which was none other than Zand. 

“I didn’t take the Chiss as a species to become slaves,” Tarkin remarked.

“He’s the first I’ve seen.” Orson took a sip of his drink, a smile curling at his lips again. He spoke again, although more to himself this time. “I’m surprised this isn’t mass-produced.” There was a strangled yell that could be heard from Zand as Razz began choking him out. The staff scrambled to pull Razz off Zand, worry flooding (Y/N).

“Razz, stop it!” She pleaded, despite knowing her words would be of little use. After quite a lot of struggle, Razz was eventually pulled off Zand. The human gasped for breath, holding a hand around his throat. Razz, after calming down a significant amount, quickly removed himself from the hold of the staff. (Y/N) rushed to him, holding onto his arm as she stared nervously at the mess before them. The table in which Zand had been thrown on had split in half and any tableware and decorations shattered or fell. (Y/N) was shaken up by the fact she had seen her friend lose his cool, which rarely happened. That day seemed to be full of surprises and not necessarily good ones. “...What did he do?” Razz grimaced, gently placing a hand on top of (Y/N)’s without looking at her.

“What’s the one thing he can do to a slave?” (Y/N) snapped her head toward her companion, the blood rushing out of her face. They were screwed.

~~~

The auctioning had begun, leaving (Y/N) and Razz to drown in dread. (Y/N) had pulled her knees up to her chest, hiding her face in them. Razz was absorbed in his thoughts as he attempted to discover some way out of the present mess. His gaze eventually trailed to (Y/N)’s right hand. His eyes narrowed as he spotted the hints of something unfamiliar to him. He leaned over slightly to get a better look and very quickly, any worries he had about being sold were forgotten. “Show me your hand.” (Y/N) peered up at her friend, a confused look in her eyes. She moved to get him it, but she was too slow for his anxious mind, quickly snatching her hand and pulling it toward him.

“Hey-”

“When did you get this?” Razz asked, a serious expression on his face as he showed what was on the back of her right hand. (Y/N) blinked owlishly, confusion riddling her. There was a tattoo of a well used spear, the metal drenched in blood. Tall grass was its background, and a DC-17 hand blaster was placed on the middle of the shaft of the spear. 

“I have no idea. This is news to me,” (Y/N) admitted. Razz hesitantly looked at her other hand, grabbing it more gently. For a moment, Razz looked like he was going to pass out. He swayed in his spot ever-so-slightly. “Razz? Are you alright?” Her left hand had another ‘tattoo’ on it. This time there was some sort of… mechanical star. A weapon perhaps? It looked incomplete, but dangerous nonetheless. A fine, white cape surrounded it. 

“Tell me, Dear… Did anything strange happen today?” (Y/N) cast her gaze away from her friend, sifting through her memories for anything of relevance. Not much later, she landed on a memory that could be considered such.

“Well, there was one thing…” Razz’s grip on (Y/N)’s hands tightened slightly.

“What?”

“When I handed the Grand Moff and Director their drinks, I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe and my hearts started beating rapidly. It was… weird.” Various emotions past by Razz as he heard her talk. For a while, he was silent. He knew exactly what had happened, and despite the fact this was what he was wanting to occur, he wished it wasn’t with them. He gently ran his thumbs over her knuckles, smiling in a pained like manner.

“You’ve found them.” (Y/N) could hardly believe her ears.

“You mean…?”

“They can’t be anyone else.” He glances down at her hands. “Not with this as proof.” There is another pause between the pair. When Razz looked back at (Y/N), tears streamed down her face. She wrapped her arms around Razz tightly, starting to sob into his chest. Razz returned the hug hesitantly, still shaken up by the discovery of her soulmates.

“I… I won’t be alone anymore.” Razz heard her mumble, a smile working its way onto her face. Razz was happy for her, truly, but she was quite cursed in the soulmate lottery.

Razz remarked, “You never were, Dear.” (Y/N) laughed lightly, pulling her face out of his chest to look at him.

“You know what I mean.” He wondered if she could make such difficult and dangerous men fall for her, but her dazzling smile put some of his worries at ease. Her looks wouldn’t be enough, but they’d certainly help. That created one major problem though; beautiful slaves were high in demand, and (Y/N) had been capturing the eyes of many for years. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew the reason such a large crowd came in that day was because of her. Zand always put the list of slaves he would be selling one month prior to the auction. Slaves could be bought at any day, but only those of a lower class. Those of higher classes were reserved for the auction, and both (Y/N) and Razz sat at the top. There would be nothing less than war. He could only pray that the Grand Moff, Director, and Sith Lord had enough credits.


End file.
